


Fireflies

by Lady_sb



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama & Romance, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Music, Musicians, Piercings, Romance, Smut, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25529404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_sb/pseuds/Lady_sb
Summary: Sonny Carisi is a member of up-and-coming indie punk band Disciples of New York. But the dynamic in the band shifts when renowned guitarist Rafael Barba forces his way into their group, and not to Sonny's liking.But when a pandemic puts all of them in lockdown, and forces them to change how they think of the future, will feelings also follow?
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 35
Collections: Barisi Summer Exchange 2020





	Fireflies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MollyKillers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MollyKillers/gifts).



> Hello gorgeous people, this is my contribution for the Barisi Summer 2020 gift exchange and its for MollyKillers. 
> 
> Her wonderful prompt was as follows: "Peter Scanavino has said in a lot of interviews that he was punk/in the punk scene in high school... I wonder if Sonny was too? " 
> 
> With that in mind, I decided to make something completely AU but set very much in our current times. I love the idea of them as musicians and before I knew it, it had expanded into this very long one-shot where I tried something different. I tried to keep it romantic, I tried to keep it funny, I tried to keep it a character piece. And above all, thanks for inspiring me and I really hope you enjoy it and forgive me any shortcomings. *bows*
> 
> PS: I also blatantly stole a line from a review of a play REE was in, please don't hurt me ^^;;

***

 _Taking no notice of the drifting stars,_  
_I put my hands together_  
_Fireflies illuminate the moment in time_

***

“So we are all in agreement?” 

A part of Sonny’s brain vaguely registers that something was being asked of him, but it took a backseat to him chasing. Chasing a melody that had been haunting him for days, an almost constant soundtrack to his dreams. 

But he felt as if he were attempting to catch smoke, where he could only watch helplessly as his fingers passed right through it. 

“Sonny? Sonny! Are you listening?!” 

It was Mike’s voice, high and metallic from his Macbook speakers that was the final push. And just like that, the melody was gone for good, replaced instead by his best friend’s voice, which sounded even more nasally over Zoom. 

A snort. 

“I told you that not switching on the video was a bad idea. Carisi is probably sprawled on his couch with a game controller in his hand.” 

Unsurprisingly the harsh jab came from Barba, his counterpoint in the band and their newest recruit.

“Uh no, after a month in lockdown, none of you are gonna get to see before my stylist.” 

The decidedly vain comment was from their drummer Amanda, and Sonny knew her well enough to know when she was being completely serious. 

“Sorry, sorry I am here. Am composing more these days and I swear I had our next number one hit in the bag. Well before Mike interrupted me,” Sonny commented with a hint of faux arrogance, straightening up in his chair. 

Tilting his screen towards him, Sonny wondered if he would ever get used to this method of communication. Talking to five black squares, planning out their schedule over the coming month. 

Sonny was a social creature, and he loved people. Hell, he missed people. When Disciples of NY went on mini-tours, it was Sonny who dragged the rest of them out. He loved the buzz, the excitement, riling up strangers, flirting with the audience, and letting some of them do more than flirt. 

Until two months ago when every stage in the country went dark. 

And Sonny felt like he was a hair away from a complete breakdown. 

Only to get a phone call out of the blue, to talk about something so mundane until the moment passed. 

And Sonny was sure that the person at the other end had no idea how he had saved him. 

If he did, he certainly wouldn’t have given another snort. 

“So? We could be writing the next Marriage of Figaro and nobody would be able to hear it,” Barba said, and Sonny could hear the faint clip of his nails on the table. 

Trust the high-brow reference to come from Barba, Sonny thought wryly. 

“Which is why we are considering this four-day livestream. I mean, it is just a test to see how the audience would respond. But if it turns out to at least not lose us money, then we can explore it further.” 

This calm observation came from Olivia, who was Barba’s manager. Not the band’s manager mind you, _Barba’s_ manager. Disciples was still an indie enough punk band that a manager wasn’t necessary. 

Sonny frowned, equal parts excited and worried about they were about to embark on, his heart beating heavy in his chest.

When it became clear that it would be months before anyone could hold a live event again, and as the money in their bank accounts ran dangerously low, the band realised that they couldn’t sit back and do nothing. 

It had been Mike’s brainchild. Run a time-limited four-day event on YouTube, each day devoted to one member and their carefully curated setlist. What they would deem their dream setlist, one that they would have loved to play in concert, unhindered by technical impossibilities or pressures to include something more popular. 

Sonny had loved the idea so much he was envious that he hadn’t thought of it. 

It was another way to connect with their audience, to give them a glimpse of what they thought about their body of work. To tell them a story through the compositions they were proudest of. 

And the fact that YouTube allowed contributions hopefully meant they wouldn’t starve. 

“So Mike first, then Amanda, Sonny and then Rafael. Bookending with our biggest draws will hopefully ensure fairly steady numbers,” Olivia said in her customary no-nonsense tone. 

Sonny would not deny that her remark stung a little, or more truthfully, it stung a lot. 

“Do you think that people would just be happy with music and a still image? I mean, I don’t know about you guys, but I think we are better live,” Amanda chirped, and Sonny could practically picture her one-handedly twirling her drumstick. 

“I think it will be fine. The music is strong enough to stand on its own, and if it is not, then we have no business putting it out,” Barba said quietly. 

Sonny let out a controlled breath at Barba’s comment. Because he felt that way too, but he also saw Amanda’s point of view as well. 

Sonny was self-aware enough to know how good he looked on stage in low-slung leather and his red snakeskin patterned guitar, his long hair brilliantine ash silver under the spotlights. 

But then Barba had never been a fan of their stagework. 

Told them as much when he had first met them, 12 months ago. 

***

**One Year Previously**

“Thank you Gramercy!” 

Sonny felt the sweat trickle down his face as he held his guitar aloft to the roar of the crowd. Their audience may have been small, but damn were they loud. 

That rush, Sonny swore on good days it was better than any orgasm he ever had. 

He could still feel the hum under his skin as the band made their way backstage and traded congratulations with the livehouse crew. It didn’t leave him even as they all cleaned up and Sonny slipped into a pair of jeans and a band-T. 

“Great show eh Mike?” Sonny said, clapping his best friend on the shoulder. His eyebrow quirked up when he realised that Mike was clearly distracted, fiddling with the end of his bracelet. 

“Sorry Sonny, yeah it was,” Mike responded with a smile. He looked so much like a boy scout it was hard to imagine him fronting a progressive punk band. 

“You saw them too didn’t you?” Amanda asked, looking up from checking her phone. 

“Who?” 

“These two standing at the very back, an older lady and a man. They could not have looked more out of place than if they had been carrying neon signs,” Mike said. 

“While being accompanied by a marching band,” Amanda quipped, drinking her spiked melon soda through a straw. 

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door that made them all look up. And there in the doorway were the two strangers that Mike had described. 

Sonny blinked as his gaze landed on the man, and something twinged in his brain. It wasn’t just that the man was handsome, he was, old-school good looking with a rock statesman beard and eyes that seemed to look straight through him. 

But it wasn’t that which made Sonny’s shoulders stiffen in recognition. 

“Hi, I am Olivia Benson and this is…” 

“Rafael Barba, classical guitarist. You are famous my friend,” Mike said, shaking Olivia’s extended hand, before turning towards Barba. The older man took it but not without a falsely modest shrug. 

“I am Mike Dodds, this is Sonny Carisi and Amanda Rollins is there in the back,” Mike did the introductions with a wave of his hand. 

“Good show, for your crowd size,” Barba said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

Sonny’s eyes instantly narrowed. Barba’s tone hadn’t changed but Carisi recognised a backhanded compliment when he was being fed one. 

“We are glad to have you as a fan then Mr Barba,” Mike said, smoothly glossing over the veiled insult, his expression not changing a fraction. 

Sonny could have kissed him. 

To Barba’s credit, he conceded the point with a half-smirk. Olivia though seemed to appreciate Mike’s gumption, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. 

“We have a proposition for you. Rafael is offering to become the second guitar in your band. We both agree you guys are good, but you are raw. A second guitar would allow a little more depth,” Olivia said evenly. 

For a minute there was complete silence as the three band members just stared at Benson and Barba, their mouths completely agape. 

“You’re fucking with us right?” 

Sonny was never the most eloquent at the best of times. 

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but Sonny is right. I mean, aside from the fact that this is highly unusual, why do _you_ want to join a punk band?” Mike said in clear confusion, leaning against the table. 

Olivia and Rafael shared a loaded look before Barba gave her a brief nod. 

“Cards on the table gentleman, and lady,” Olivia said with a smile to Amanda, which she reciprocated. “Rafael is just getting out of his current contract, which has a non-compete clause for a year. So he can’t do anything that even faintly resembles what he used to. But I am sure we can all agree that your music is probably not even in the same galaxy as his previous repertoire.” 

Even though her voice was firm but respectful, Sonny found himself getting extremely annoyed at how quiet Barba had been the entire time. 

“Excuse me, but does Mr Barba know anything about punk music? Or does he not open his mouth unless you pay him?” Sonny sniped. 

Carisi inwardly grinned when he saw a flash of anger in Barba’s eyes. Finally, a reaction. 

But instead of replying, Barba wordlessly gestured to Sonny’s warm-up guitar that he kept in the dressing room. Without even waiting for permission, he plugged it into the amp, locked the tremolo system and gave a couple of practice strums. 

Carisi got the breath knocked out of him when Barba launched into a lighting fast solo, his fingers a blur over the frets. It was obvious he was making it up on the fly, but the melody still sounded cohesive, dirty and jagged. 

When he was done, Barba gave Carisi a very pointed “ _beat that asshole_ ” look. 

But emboldened by youthful brashness, Carisi easily tamped down any impression that he was mildly impressed, choosing instead to tug on the platinum hoop in his left ear and click the steel barbell in his tongue against his teeth. 

Inside though, he only had two words. _Insufferable prick_. 

“Look, you guys drew just under 400 tonight, right? Not only can I ensure we will be selling out, but we will be selling bigger venues,” Barba said. 

“Lofty promise,” Mike said cautiously. 

“If it doesn’t work, then kick me out. I mean what do you have to lose? And, anything I compose with you guys will be shared out, even split,” Barba said, squaring his shoulders. 

Mike, Sonny and Amanda all shared a look that was equal parts trepidation, excitement and uncertainty. But Sonny could tell that Mike’s mind was already made up, even if he were still unsure. 

“You will have to change what you wear.”

Sonny inwardly smiled when he saw a genuine look of annoyance cross Barba’s face. He knew he was right though, Barba’s silvery-blue button down and neatly pressed jeans would have to go. And Sonny was suddenly struck with the urge to dirty up that perfectly coiffed, argent-streaked hair.

But the row of what looked like real diamond studs along his earlobe, that could stay.

“What the hell is wrong with…” 

“He will do it,” Olivia interjected, an overly firm hand on Barba’s forearm that made him flinch. Barba shot her a withering look before giving a curt nod. 

Mike stood up and reached for Barba’s hand again. 

“Welcome to Disciples of NY Rafael Barba. Let’s just hope this doesn’t blow up in our faces.” 

In the split-second before he shook Mike’s hand, Sonny something like genuine doubt flicker in Barba’s eyes. For the first time in the short time that he had met him, Sonny saw Barba look unsure, visibly worried as to the uncertain road ahead. 

“You and me both Mr Dodds, you and me both,” he said. 

***

“So have we finally decided on the song list? I mean I know we said be creative, but I think we need to cap it at an hour and a half. There is a fine line between being proud of your work and…” 

“Public masturbation?” Amanda drawled, making Sonny laugh. 

“Can you all concentrate, I do have other things to do today,” Barba said churlishly, his annoyance potent even from his little black square. 

Sonny rolled his eyes, and wasn’t surprised when a private chat popped up from Amanda 30 seconds later bearing the message: “ _Uptight dick_ ”. 

The guitarist grinned as he sent back a string of laughing emojis.

But something stopped him from responding with something equally as snarky. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t share Amanda’s view on Barba, he did. From the minute he joined, the man was a royal pain in the ass. 

In Sonny’s view, punk and rock were all about obliterating structure, something that was reflected in his composing style. He wouldn’t deny that it gave him a secret thrill when Barba was blatantly offended by all the licks and improvisations that Sonny peppered his songs with. 

“It sounds like two garbage trucks having sex. Having _bad_ sex,” had been one particularly memorable observation. 

So yeah, Sonny was in no way Barba’s number one fan. 

But a few months ago Sonny had to come face-to-face with the realisation that maybe he didn’t have Barba completely sussed out. 

And it had started, as most things in music do, with a broken guitar string. 

***  
**Nine Months Previously**

“Fuck!” 

Sonny cursed as his bottom string snapped, almost flaying skin in the process. Sucking his thumb, Sonny sighed as he looked down at his guitar in frustration. 

He was already having a bad day, why not add a dead string to the list of things pissing him off? 

Slumping down on his amp, Sonny fingered the neck as he tried to calm himself. He knew he would need to now because in a few hours, his blood pressure would certainly spike up again. 

And all because of one glorious person. 

“Barba,” Sonny glowered. 

Sonny considered himself fairly easygoing, not prone to bouts of spitfire anger like Amanda or moments of emo navel-gazing like Mike. But, in the three months since Barba had joined, Sonny seemed to find himself in a state of permanent irritation. 

Sonny knew this would be an issue from day one, from the minute Barba had shown up with completed music sheets for each of them. 

“Is there a problem?” Barba asked frostily when his gesture was met with utter silence. And that was putting it mildly. 

“The balls on the man!” Sonny and Amanda ranted in stereo to Mike later.

But, and this “but” was at the crux of all of Sonny’s feelings about Barba, the older man had made good on his promise. 

The fact that Rafael Barba was giving up classical music to join some fledgling band made news. Their upcoming shows had sold out in minutes and the amount of press was insane. 

Twisting the screw even more was the fact that Barba had been right about adding a second guitar. It gave their songs a depth that Sonny didn’t even realise had been missing. 

And his compositions were just as layered as he was, dark, atmospheric, full of double-meanings and word play. He wrote love songs that carried a taste of bitter hate, and angry anthems wrapped around soft, melodic bridges full of difficult yearning. 

Still, didn’t mean Sonny had to like him. Or admit to himself that he was here two hours ahead of everyone else, so he could get some extra practice. 

Sighing to himself, Sonny wondered what he was going to do about the whole Barba problem, when something to the side caught his eye. 

His eyes widened and he inhaled sharply. 

Someone, an inexperienced staff member most likely, had mistakenly taken out one of Barba’s guitars and mounted it, thinking that it would be part of the show. But it wasn’t just any of Barba’s guitars. 

“Wow, his acoustic,” Sonny murmured, getting to his feet so he could see the guitar up close. 

God, it was beautiful, a work of art in spruce and rosewood. It was a custom Robert Ruck that apparently was a variation of something called “No. 58”, which probably cost more than Sonny’s rent. 

He heard Barba tell Mike that the model had been a favourite of Manuel Barrueco, a famous Cuban classical guitarist who started playing guitar in Cuba at the age of eight, before fleeing to the US with his family as political refugees. 

Carisi’s breathing stilled as he pressed down on the strings, and felt the pushback bite into his palm. 

He knew that touching another guitarist’s instrument without their knowledge was outright sacrilege. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself from picking it up and cradling it in his lap, noting how perfectly it fit between his hands. 

Carisi gave a tentative strum and felt his heart leap at the sound it produced. The melody was like honey, deeply sweet and earthy with a metallic finish as it petered out. 

Closing his eyes, Sonny played one his favourite pieces from memory, his fingers dancing up and down the strings. When he pressed down on the frets, the vibrations travelled up his arm, flooding him with joy and light. 

“What the hell do you think you are doing?!” 

Sonny yelped as he fell backwards in fright.

“Save the guitar, save the guitar,” he chanted in his head over and over, finally landing with a painful ‘ _thud_ ’ on his back. But thankfully he landed with the guitar clasped firmly to his chest. 

Only to have that feeling of relief disappear when he realised that he had broken the last string. 

Seriously, Carisi was convinced that the Higher Power was just screwing with him now. 

“For God’s sake Carisi, are you ever capable of not being a bull in a china shop?” Barba snapped, snatching his guitar away from him. “Did you think using someone else’s instrument would make you more talented?” 

Any apology that Sonny may have wanted to give died on his lips as pure fury took over. Yes, he was the one in the wrong, but he reasoned that Barba wasn’t such a _dick_ , he wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. 

“Why are you here Barba?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Why us?!” Sonny said, throwing his arms up. “Out of the hundreds of struggling bands in New York, why did you pick us? You clearly think we are below you, so why did you choose to inflict your special brand of tyranny on us?” 

He saw Barba take a step back as if he had physically slapped him. 

Good, Barba shouldn’t be the only one not feeling wrong-footed all the time. 

“Is that what you really think Carisi?” Barba said in surprise. 

“Am I wrong?” Carisi said with his arms crossed. 

“Completely, utterly,” Barba answered firmly. Carisi could not help but be taken aback at how uncharacteristically sincere the older man sounded. 

“Yes, I am a diva, I am an asshole about a lot of things, but not about music. The music matters above everything, beyond our egos and petty differences. It is the only thing that we leave behind that lasts longer than us.” 

Barba took a deep breath that Carisi unconsciously echoed. 

“So I am not lying when I say I think you have potential. A bit more honing, a bit more pressure, and I am sure you will be able to create magic.” 

Carisi felt his breathing stutter at the way Barba was looking at him. With so much conviction in those green eyes that he had to fight the urge to look away. 

“You mean the band, right?” Carisi said quietly. 

A pause. 

“Yes, the band,” Barba responded. 

A lie, dressed up in some trappings of the truth. 

Carisi honestly didn’t know how to process that. 

“I am sorry I touched your guitar without permission. That was a prick move on my part Barba,” Carisi finally apologised, his earlier anger giving way to remorse. 

“I am sorry for blowing up at you Carisi. The string isn’t your fault either, it was wound too tight and I had asked the tech to take it out so I could restring it,” Barba said, turning around so he could put the guitar back in the case. 

“Truce?” Carisi said, extending his hand which Barba shook. But a quizzical expression soon crossed his face. 

“The piece you were playing earlier, was it one of mine?” 

It was, but Carisi wasn’t sure he wanted to admit just yet that Barba was behind one of his favourite pieces of music. How he had always loved it, even before Barba had forced himself into their lives. 

“Yeah, I wanted to see if I could add a harder edge to it. You have a very deep catalogue Barba, surely we can mine some if it?”

As if to emphasise his point, Carisi reached for his own guitar and played the opening chords to a song he knew Barba would recognise. 

He should, Carisi reasoned, it was his first number one. 

“Ah yes, that song. Can’t play that anymore though, don’t have the rights.” 

The calm way that Barba delivered that little piece of info, without a trace of wistfulness, or regret for what he had left behind, had Carisi intrigued. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, why did you leave classical music Barba? Since we are being honest here.” 

When Barba looked like he was about to argue, Carisi quickly added, “You don’t have to give me all the details, but you have to give me some insight into your process.” 

Carisi shrugged and stuffed a hand into his pocket while keeping the other on his guitar. 

“I mean, you are my other half in the band after all,” Carisi said casually, but with too much sincerity for it to be convincing. 

Carisi could practically see Barba’s shoulders relax as he sat down on Sonny’s amp, feet crossed at the ankles. Carisi felt at this point he could catalogue all of Barba’s microexpressions, from the hesitation in the furrow of his brow, to the softening of his mouth just before he started to talk. 

“Liv is my friend first, manager second. My manager before this, her dad Warren, was my mentor. All my success, my entire career is thanks to him. 

When he left us, I stayed with her out of loyalty. Only to realise that she was nothing like her father. She thought that managing my career meant managing my life, which extended to who I should be sleeping with.” 

“Shit,” Carisi whistled through his teeth. 

“One day, I was at a party and was drinking, and before I knew it, she was in my apartment, attempting to take my clothes off.” 

Barba stood up and faced away from Carisi, putting some space between them as if instinctively trying to protect himself. 

“I left the next day, because fuck the money. My dignity is worth more to me.” 

“For sure Barba, I am sorry you had to go through that,” Carisi said, his tone a mixture of horror and sympathy. 

Barba shrugged. 

“Because I walked out, as a trade off she kept a lot of the rights to my songs. But it’s fine, she can keep them, there is only one song that really matters to me. Something I wrote when I was at my lowest. My career had reached a dead-end, my boyfriend at that time was a useless layabout. But that is when it came to me.” 

Barba turned back to face his Carisi, boldface certainty evident in the set of his jaw. 

“It made me realise that sometimes the light has to come from me. It didn’t matter that the song wasn’t a big hit. I don’t think anyone will truly know how much it means to me that I can play it for them.” 

It was an uncharacteristically honest admission from Barba, free of any arrogance, which is why it landed for Carisi like a punch in the gut. 

His confidence, it was breathtaking. 

“Surely you feel that way about some of your songs Carisi?” 

“A couple,” Carisi said, unconsciously rubbing his nose as the spotlight turned on him. 

He would never ever tell his bandmates this, but his songwriting was a tender spot with him. It was often so personal that he felt that he needed to hide it behind a veil of mock self-confidence. 

But the way Barba nodded at him, it was as if he completely understood. 

“It shows you know, when you are proud of something,” Barba said quietly, shifting his weight as he prepared to make a move. 

“Am I that transparent?” Carisi chuckled. Barba smiled back, this one a touch softer around the edges. 

“No, it's because it moved me, surprisingly. But I can’t explain to you why it did, and that is sublime. That is what we all should aspire to, otherwise, what’s the point?”

Carisi was speechless, his mouth open as Barba delivered this poignant comment and then chose to walk away. It was only when he was almost off the stage that something struck Carisi. 

“Hey, Barba? What was the song?” 

Carisi watched Barba freeze at his question, his feet even on the floor even as his spine stiffered. But when he turned, there was no disguising the trace of warm pride in his smile.

“Fireflies.”

That night, Carisi looked at Barba as if through a brand new pair of glasses. 

Watched almost in awe as the usually composed older man divebombed on his guitar, his hair slick with sweat against the collar of his leather jacket, stretched tight against his biceps and cut low enough to show off an ornate silver crucifix. 

Sonny watched and felt something live in his veins. Something complicated, something familiar, but he knew ultimately what it meant. 

Trouble. 

***

“When you all have your final lists, send it over and put all the files into Dropbox. Then I will do the final editing.” 

Sonny swore at having drifted off _again_ , and now he wasn’t sure if he had missed anything important. Abruptly sitting up, Sonny adjusted his headphones as he tried to deduce if there had been something that had required his input. 

He breathed easier when he heard Olivia and Mike discussing the financial aspects of the livestream, something he most definitely did not have any part in. 

And Sonny had his playlist all ready, sitting in the Draft folder of his Gmail. It had taken him a week to finally decide the order, and he had gone back numerous times to shuffle around, or change versions. 

Well, all except the first song he had chosen to put in right in the middle. That never changed. 

But it made Sonny happy to be able to plan and do something again. 

All he had to do was press send. 

“Right, so talk to you guys later then,” Mike said. 

He had barely finished his sentence before Amanda exited the call with the now familiar Zoom chime, quickly followed by Olivia. 

Sonny hovered his cursor over “leave meeting” when only to stop when the screen jumped. 

And there, on screen, was Barba.

Sonny realised that Barba must have mistakenly turned on his cam, although his mic was muted. He still hadn’t realised his mistake either, given that he was preoccupied looking down at his phone. 

It had been a while since Sonny had last seen him, and his throat thickened at how familiar, and yet different, he looked. 

Ever since joining Disciples, Barba had decided to keep the facial hair in order to make him look less polished. But it was clear even through the fuzzy video that there were more gray patches now, his hair thick and soft as he absentmindedly ran a hand through to tame it.

Sonny was struck by an insane urge to kiss the screen, which passed the minute he realised how creepy that thought was. 

Besides, he was also pretty sure it wouldn’t be covered by AppleCare. 

In that moment Barba looked up, and Sonny was so sure he was staring straight at him. It was frankly impossible that he would be, but Sonny swore he could physically _feel_ his gaze on his skin, intimately, with those eyes that had so much soul to them. 

A fumble, and then he was gone, leaving Sonny feeling bereft. 

Sighing, Sonny leaned back into his office chair with a large creak, scratching his flat belly under the Dragonforce t-shirt he wore at home. A gag-gift from Mike, with the words Dirty Power Metal Slut across the front. Sonny loved it. 

For a few minutes, Sonny found himself stalling, picking at the waistband of his tattered jeans, catching the metal button with a fingernail, drumming his fingers on the table. 

“What the hell am I waiting for?” Sonny chastised himself, finally pressing “send” on his setlist email. 

His heart beat fast at the sound of the “swoosh”, and his hands immediately picked up in nervous energy. 

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he let his hands rest over the swell of his groin, his palm ghosting over the outline of his soft cock beneath his zipper. The jeans were tight across his crotch, and considering he was at home, he didn’t bother with underwear. 

Most people masturbated when they were horny or bored. Sonny jerked off when he was antsy. 

Closing his eyes and leaning back, Sonny mentally rifled through his fantasy rolodex, before settling on one that he had been visiting really often. Only this time, the figure at the centre of it was a bit more disheveled, a little broader in the shoulders and thicker in the arms. 

The eyes though, the eyes were always the same. 

***

**Six Months Previously**

Of the two cliches often coupled with rock and roll, Sonny had never held any interest in the “drugs” part, having seen too many of his friends give in and end up in body bags. 

The sex part however, was a completely different story. 

Sonny loved sex, no surprise there given that he was a highly tactile person. But thanks to the leftover traces of his Catholic upbringing, Sonny always gave up a little something of himself every time he slept with someone, even with one night stands. 

Sometimes what he offered up was small and inconsequential, other times it was a bit more. But it was never just a fuck to him. 

So it was puzzling him why he was having the hardest time trying to score tonight. 

“You leaving tomorrow, right?” A sultry voice whispered in his ear, raising a line of goosebumps right up his arm. 

Carisi grinned as he took in his companion’s angular blue hair and full breasts that were pressed against his forearm, her top cut low enough to reveal a massive chest piece. 

“I am. But why do I have a feeling that you prefer it that way?” Sonny flirted, giving a little push back. She wasn’t a groupie but Sonny knew her type, knew that she got off on being challenged.

It was why she had picked him, out of all the other guys hanging out at his hotel’s bar. Because while they all looked at her when she walked in, Sonny was the only one who looked away. 

“You are being presumptuous,” she responded, taking a sip of her cocktail, something aniseedy and black, the smell of which made Sonny a little nauseous. 

But she was definitely his type, and Sonny knew that she would pretty much follow him up to his room if he played his cards right. 

Sure enough, he soon felt the scratch of her nails on his cheek as she tried to move in closer. He stared at the red of her lips and the slight gold gleam on her cupid’s bow. 

But just before their lips touched, an image flashed across his mind of another set of lips. Thinner, pursed together in a disapproving line and definitely more masculine.

And suddenly he wasn’t into her anymore. 

“Gotta go,” Sonny mumbled, throwing down a handful of bills before picking up his jacket. Leaving his potential conquest perched on her chair with her mouth open, the slash of crimson perverted into an ugly twist. 

“I must be out of my fucking mind,” Sonny said to himself once he was safely in the lift. They had been on tour for just over three weeks, and in that time Sonny had been so celibate that he might as well have joined a convent. 

It wasn’t just her. Every time he came close to taking someone to bed, something would turn him off. Suddenly the person was too thin, too clean-shaven, too mind-numbingly dull or too the wrong gender. 

It was almost laughable, here he was a bonafide rock star and he was getting almost no tail. 

Idly flipping his key card between his fingers, Sonny felt all the alcohol he had drank earlier bleed into his bloodstream, warming his skin and making his steps a little unsteady. 

He was so set on getting to his room and sleeping both the booze and his randiness off, that he almost tripped over a figure in white squatting by the ice machine outside his room. 

“For fuck’s sake, watch it you inebriated giraffe,” Barba scolded gruffly. 

“Barba? What the hell are you doing on my floor,” Sonny asked, his tongue suddenly thick inside his mouth. 

“Playing a concerto, what do you think?” Barba remarked, punctuating his brusque remark with a rattle of his ice bucket. 

“Jeez Barba, why can’t you be nice to me for once? I just got rejected,” Sonny said, the alcohol amplifying his natural need to overshare. 

“Some girl came to her senses then?” Barba smirked, pulling the shawl collar of his bathrobe together. 

“How are you sure it wasn’t a guy?” Sonny fired back, enjoying the slight jolt of surprise he saw in Barba’s eyes.

“What do you need ice in the middle of the night for anyway Barba?” Sonny said, ambling alongside the older man. “Don’t tell me you have someone back in your room that you want to use it on?”

“You are so crude sometimes Carisi,” Barba sniffed. 

“Oh come on, live a little,” Carisi teased. “I mean why get into this life if you aren’t going to indulge in some of the more hedonistic aspects of it?” 

Barba shot the younger man a glare that sobered him up a little. 

“I know you think that I’m some uptight old bastard, but it wasn’t my lifelong dream to become a classical guitarist the minute I picked up a guitar.” 

“It wasn’t?” Sonny asked, his surprise authentic. Barba had seemed so single-minded about his career that Sonny could practically picture him as a toddler, plinking away on a plastic guitar. 

“Of course, my mother wanted me to play classical. So the first thing I did was pick up an electric guitar the very next day.” 

Barba said this with a half-smile as he pulled the keycard out from his robe pocket and tapped on his door. Sonny was startled to realise that he had followed Barba back to his room without thinking. 

But Barba didn’t immediately head in, choosing instead to stand the the doorway facing his bandmate. 

Sonny knew he should have headed back, but it seemed that the both of them were finding it hard to say goodnight. 

“I mean, even a classical guitarist holds some vague dream of destroying the stage and fucking groupies Sonny,” Barba said, again only partially in jest. But that wasn’t what made Sonny’s heart trip. 

“You called me Sonny.” 

“That is your name isn’t it? As juvenile as it is,” Barba added a spike but without the spite. “I mean, no real rock star ever had a name that ended in -y.” 

“Billy Idol?” Sonny challenged, wondering why he sounded so short of breath. 

As he put a hand on the doorframe to steady himself, it inadvertently made him pitch forward so that the two of them were only centimetres apart. 

“Fine, a point for you,” Barba murmured, putting a foot forward so that he was now most definitely in Carisi’s space. 

But Carisi barely heard him, transfixed as he was by the movement of Barba’s mouth, his lips shaping around the words and the catch of his teeth on his bottom lip. 

“Booze, it’s gotta be the booze,” Carisi told himself, the world around him shifting into soft focus. But he couldn’t stop himself from breathing in and inwardly sighing at how _amazing_ Barba smelt, like soft pine and snow. 

“Barba?” 

“Rafael.” 

“What?” Carisi blinked in confusion. 

“Rafael,” the older man repeated softly. Just before he leaned forward to kiss Sonny square on the mouth. 

Or maybe it was Sonny that had made the first move, but he could never be sure. It didn’t matter, from the minute their lips touched, it was as if someone had taken a match to his libido. 

Sonny found himself very hard, and very horny. And all of that from a kiss. A kiss that never seemed to end, where he found himself chasing Rafael’s lips even if he pulled back just a fraction. 

“Can I come inside?” Sonny asked, hoping that he sounded more seductive than needy. 

Instead of answering, Barba simply pulled him in by the hardware of his black silk shirt, allowing Sonny to kick the door shut behind him. 

As soon as their hands were free, Sonny felt Rafael dig his blunt nails into his sides. Sonny pulled and tugged at the tie holding Rafael’s robe closed so that he could see more of that bronze skin. 

Sonny didn’t realise how badly he had wanted this. 

A lie, Sonny had _always_ wanted this. 

“Enthusiastic,” Barba chuckled sardonically against their lips. 

Sonny simply deepened the kiss in response, his tongue tracing the inside of Rafael’s mouth, gasping a little when he felt Rafael suck on his tongue stud. Sonny heard the metal barbell click against the enamel of Rafael’s teeth and stuck his tongue in deeper so that it could stroke the ball against the roof of his mouth. 

That turned Rafael’s kisses almost frantic as he undid the buttons of Sonny’s shirt and pushed him towards the bed. 

Falling backwards, Sonny propped himself up on his elbows as he watched Rafael shrug off his robe at the foot of the bed so that he was completely naked.

And Sonny palmed himself and moaned.

Rafael was gorgeously solid, all broad defined arms and hair shadowed chest. Darker at his upper torso before tapering into a trail that led all the way to his heavy dick. 

A dick that made Sonny’s mouth ache.

Adding to the already sensual picture was the massive tattoo that outlined Rafael’s right side, decorating the sensuous lines of his ribs in notes threaded through loops and swirls, and the metal glint in his left nipple. 

“Fuck me.” 

Sonny said this as he pushed himself up so that he was eye-level with Rafael’s belly, so he could pull him closer by his hips and rub his cheek over that magnificent curve, the hair prickling his skin. 

Sonny yelped when Rafael grabbed a handful of his hair so that he could tilt his face up. 

“I am not one of your pick-up fucks Sonny,” Rafael said harshly. 

“Fuck no, no you are not,” Sonny said softly, reverently as he ran his hands over the shape Rafael’s body, dampening the skin. 

“What are you?” He breathed, before lapping at Rafael’s pierced nipple, gently tugging it with his teeth while at the same time stroking the sensitive underside of his belly. 

When Sonny heard Rafael’s hitched breathing, he knew he had gotten to him. 

Sonny had finally gotten to him. 

And God, if that didn’t make him even harder, to the point where he was straining the front of his lace-up leather pants. 

“Meaning, you will have to work to get me off,” Rafael said, sounding more like himself. “I am not going to just come just from your so-called ‘charm’.”

Sonny’s eyes darkened, but not with anger. 

With surprising strength, he managed to maneuver Rafael so that he was flat on his back on the bed, his cock jutting out from his body. 

Leaning over the older man, Sonny kissed him again as he casually flicked Rafael’s nipple piercing with his thumb, eagerly swallowing his moans. Sonny then let his lips travel down his body until he was mouthing around the root of Rafael’s prick. 

“Are you sure you know what you are doing?” Rafael asked, clearly turned on but no less snarky. Sonny shot him an indignant look. 

“I’ll have you know, I am great at sucking dick,” Sonny retorted, wrapping a hand around Rafael’s cock and giving it a firm pull. 

Sonny’s eyes narrowed when Rafael shrugged, he actually shrugged at his bandmate. 

“You do tend to exaggerate your capabilities…. _oh_.”

Show not tell. It had always been the only foolproof way to shut Rafael up, Sonny thought wryly. 

He had taken the head of Rafael’s cock in his mouth and was sucking hard. He used the end of his barbell to trace around the flared tip, and watched in smug satisfaction as Rafael squirmed. 

The older man damn near threw Sonny off the bed when he used his jewellery to tease and flick the sensitive slit. 

When he felt Rafael shiver, Sonny pulled back, slowly rubbing his lips along the shaft of the other man’s cock before nuzzling his balls. 

But he didn’t stop there and travelled lower, past the sensitive skin until he was facing Rafael’s hole. Digging his thumbs into the swell of Rafael’s ass, Sonny spread him wider so he could watch him clench and flutter. 

“Beautiful,” Sonny practically purred, before dipping his head so he could thoroughly eat him out. 

“Oh yes, Sonny yes,” Rafael moaned as he felt Sonny eagerly lap and tongue-fuck his asshole. Rafael’s toes curled when he felt the contrast between the cold metal of Sonny’s tongue piercing and his hot breath as he stretched the tight muscle. 

But he threw his head back and let out a feral sound when Sonny forced his pierced tongue inside him as deep as it would go, the metal rubbing against his internal walls. 

“Enough Sonny, enough!” Rafael ordered, tugging at Sonny’s earring to make him stop. Sonny pulled back, his cheeks flushed and his mouth swollen, shooting Rafael a pleased look before deliberately licking his lips

“So did I exaggerate?” Sonny said cockily. Rafael glowered at him. 

“You are talking like a man who doesn’t want to get laid,” Rafael huffed peevishly, getting up from the bed to head into the other room. 

Sonny was not worried though, welcoming the slight respite so he could lie down properly, one hand undoing his pants and the other in his mouth, sucking on his fingers so he could get the taste of Rafael’s skin. 

Pulling his other hand back, Sonny saw the light glisten on his fingertips. He was so wet. 

Sonny raised an eyebrow when Rafael walked back in holding a tube of KY, a condom, and more intriguingly, the bucket of ice from earlier. 

“What are you doing?” 

Rafael shot him a look that made him quiver as he placed everything he had been carrying on the nightstand. 

“I want to be fucked, long and hard. But you look about two strokes away from the edge so let me chill things down a little,” Rafael said, popping an ice fragment in his mouth. 

Before Sonny could truly register what was happening, pushed him down and ran the ice over his left nipple. Sonny could feel the skin pebble, the shock from the cold just about balanced by the heat of Rafael’s mouth. 

Sonny squirmed as Rafael sucked on Sonny’s nipple until the ice melted, streaming down his chest in tiny rivulets. 

“Shit, God, that feels…” 

But Sonny didn’t manage to finish his sentence before Rafael repeated his actions with Sonny’s other nipple, this time biting hard enough to leave a mark. 

It was clear to Sonny that Rafael was getting his own back, avoiding his more sensitive areas. He chose instead to pay attention to the concave of his stomach, or the underside of his arm, his tongue following the patterns of his half-sleeve tattoo. 

Sonny bucked his hips when Rafael finally took his still cold mouth to his cock, taking him down his throat with little effort. Rafael only pulled back to get another piece of ice before blowing him in earnest, making loud, wet sounds as he sucked up and down Sonny’s prick. 

The hot and cold, was just enough pain and pleasure to pull Sonny’s lust back from the edge. Although he almost came on the spot when Rafael pushed a damp, cold fingertip inside him. 

“Yeah Rafael, finger fuck me,” Sonny moaned, his hands fisting the sheets. 

“No Sonny, you fuck me,” Rafael demanded, handing Sonny the lube and condoms, accompanying his order with a hard kiss. 

Sonny nodded and squeezed a generous amount on his hand. He nudged Rafael’s legs open to prep him, one finger quickly becoming two as Sonny spread wide his already soft hole. 

Rafael rolled his hips so that he could take Sonny’s fingers deeper, only to stop when he heard him chuckle. 

“What’s so damn funny?” Rafael growled, and Sonny had the decency to look contrite. 

“No it’s just, for someone who doesn’t fuck groupies, why did you have lube and condoms?” Sonny asked, reaching in deeper so he could firmly stroke Rafael’s prostate. 

“The condoms are from the hotel, the lube is mine,” Rafael said archly. “Like I said, not all of us are dogs eager to chase the first bit of skirt that shows interest. Well, not anymore.” 

“Oh?” Sonny said smokily, pushing his fingers deep until it hit the webbing. 

“I did date a violinist once who liked to ride her bow. Ah, yes, Sonny, do that again,” Rafael said arching his back when Sonny’s fingers did something he liked. 

“Classical musicians can be filthy? Who would have thought,” Sonny grinned, kissing Rafael under his chin, wetting his beard as Sonny fingered him harder.

“Do you want to keep talking about my exes or are you going to fuck me,” Rafael almost snarled, his patience finally starting to fray, his cock leaving silverly trails on his stomach. 

“I’m going to fuck you like a rockstar,” Carisi smirked, entirely too pleased with himself. 

“No wonder that girl said no to you,” Barba said, rolling his eyes. 

Sonny ignored the jab, concentrating instead on rolling the rubber down his cock and slicking himself up. With that cocksure smile firmly in place, Sonny leaned back and propped up his legs. 

“Sit on my lap, ride my cock Rafael,” Sonny said huskily, holding on tight to the base of his prick. 

After a moment of hesitation, Rafael clambered over him and lined up Sonny’s cock with his hole, rubbing it up and down his cleft so as to get used to the sensation. 

Both gasped when Rafael sat back, allowing Sonny’s cock to partially penetrate him, before relaxing his body so that he could take him in fully. 

“Fuck that’s tight, amazing baby,” Sonny said, running his hands over Rafael’s chest, squeezing his pectorals and tugging at his nipple piercing again. In response, Rafael raked his nails down Sonny’s inked skin. 

Sonny kept a loose grip on Rafael’s hips as he started to move, letting him set the pace. But it wasn’t long before Rafael was practically bouncing in his lap, raising himself up until Sonny was almost completely out of him before slamming back down, doing it over and over until his thighs ached. 

“Sonny, your cock, you fill me up,” Rafael groaned, grinding against Sonny’s lap. The sounds he made got even louder when Sonny reached behind him to rub his fingers over where they were joined, where Rafael was stretched the widest over Sonny’s dick. 

Suddenly Sonny was not happy being a spectator anymore. 

“Let me take care of you Rafael, baby,” Sonny pleaded, sloppily kissing him to gain back some control. Grabbing onto Rafael’s shoulders, Sonny fucked up in hard, almost painful thrusts, his cock hitting Rafael’s prostate straight on. 

“Again Sonny, again. Fuck me, fuck me.” 

Wrapping his arms around Rafael’s shoulders, Sonny buried his face into the crook of the other man’s neck so he could fuck him harder, lifting his hips off the bed as he tried to send them both soaring over the edge. 

“I’m fucking you Rafael. I fuck you so well, don’t I baby?” Sonny asked almost mindlessly as he licked and sucked any bare skin he could find. 

“Come inside me Sonny, fill me up,” Rafael whispered into his ear before pulling back to kiss him full on the mouth. 

When they parted, Sonny rested their foreheads together so that he could look at the other man unfettered. 

It made him notice that in the pale light, Rafael’s normally green eyes became a pale grey, his pupils blown. And those eyes were now looking at him in a way that made his heart stumble. 

And in that moment, Sonny could not deny himself the truth that he may have had feelings for Barba. Had them for months, had them ever since he broke Barba’s guitar. 

He was sunk. 

“Coming, I’m coming,” Rafael said throatily, jerking himself off so that he spilled over Sonny’s stomach. 

It was that clench that did it, and with a couple more forceful thrusts, Sonny fucked up and filled the condom, starbursts behind his eyes as he moaned long and wet into Rafael’s shoulder. 

Looking back, that was Sonny’s last clear memory of that night. Rafael collapsed on top of him with Sonny’s cock still firmly inside him. 

***

Sonny threw his head back and groaned when he felt himself twitch in his palm. He twisted his wrist to add the last bit of friction, and felt himself spill all over his lap in sticky stripes. 

He sucked in a cool breath between his teeth as a pleasant buzz settled in his bones. The orgasm had been so intense that he swore he heard bells as he came down from his high. 

Only to grimace when he realised that his phone was actually ringing. 

Turning his phone over, Sonny’s flush deepened across the back of his neck when he saw the name. 

“What’s up Mike?” Sonny answered, reaching for a tissue to clean himself up. He had to work to keep his voice even so that he could explain away his breathlessness on doing the laundry, and not make it obvious that he had in fact been touching himself. 

Touching himself while thinking about a bandmate. One that he had slept with exactly once, over six months ago. 

Sonny tried to not think about how sad that made him. 

Instead, he focused on a spark of worry that travelled through him when Mike didn’t immediately answer, the sound of his breathing faint across the wires.

“Is something the…” 

“Sonny, I was going over your setlist and one of your choices. The one right in the middle…” 

Sonny’s throat went dry and he had to swallow hard. 

“Yeah, what about it?” Sonny replied casually, gripping his phone tighter when he heard Mike give an audible sigh. 

His best friend may not have been the biggest talker, preferring instead to let out all his emotions on stage. But Sonny could clearly discern the mix of concern and disappointment, all in that single breath. 

“Jeez Sonny, if you wanted a less subtle way of telling Barba you love him, you could have hired a plane to write it in the sky or something. That song, it is _his_ song. And we’ve played it like once maybe? Twice at most?”

Sonny slumped in his chair as if someone had cut all his strings. Trust Mike to catch it. Music after all was the mother tongue of composers. 

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Sonny said defensively, still trying to tap dance his way out of having to explain himself. 

But when Mike said nothing in response, his silence becoming even more damning as the seconds ticked by, Sonny finally buckled, not being able to keep up the charade. 

“Look Mike, it’s nothing okay. Just some things I need to sort out. You don’t need to worry,” Sonny said, injecting a note of his trademark optimism back into his voice, even as his anxiousness manifested itself in the _tap tap_ of his nails on the glass back of his phone. 

“I won’t let it fuck up the band. I won’t let it, I won’t let it hurt us.” 

“Oh Sonny, it’s not about that,” Mike said, sounding more gentle than Sonny had ever heard him be before. 

“Buddy, you know I love you right? I just don’t want you to get hurt. And this guy, he could hurt you, badly.” 

He already did, but Mike didn’t need to know that Sonny thought to himself as he hung up. 

Didn’t need to know how after that one night they had together that Sonny had woken up to an empty bed. How he had woken up pleasantly sore and brimming with the need to be tender, only to have it all disappear when he realised that he was alone. 

Almost as if to drive the point home that Carisi was nothing more than a one-night fling, Barba had even packed up all his things and went down for breakfast. 

And acted like nothing happened. 

It had filled Carisi with feelings of frustration, anger and sorrow, an all too familiar cocktail of emotions he held when it came to Barba. 

But alongside that now was the churn of something else Carisi almost wished he didn’t feel, which he wouldn’t have if not for the fact that they had slept together. 

Longing. 

However, Carisi refused to let the older man brush him aside. To let him hide behind that unflappable wall of professionalism that he had built, which for one night he had let Sonny break down. 

If anything, the recent isolation had taught him that life was really too short. 

For better or worse, in a few weeks he would have his answer. 

***

It started slow. 

And then it exploded. 

From their respective apartments, the band and Olivia watched with their jaws on the floor at the numbers they were pulling. Not just from the US, but all over the world, fans flooding the chatbox and social media about how much they loved the idea and the choices the band had made. 

More gratifyingly, they gave. Mostly small amounts, some big, but they all still gave. 

No, it would not replace the live experience or the income, but it was its own special, collective experience that they all were a part of for that small amount of time. 

The band, the fans, all united in a way they couldn’t have been before. 

Barba had been right, the music had been strong enough to stand on its own. 

Sonny was glad that his doubts were proven wrong this time.

But even his happiness at the livestream being a success couldn’t quite chase away the nerves he felt when it came to his night. In fact, if he had to describe how he was feeling, the closest he could think of was pre-live jitters. 

Sitting down at his work desk, Sonny chewed his bottom lip as his fingers hovered over the trackpad of his Mac. A part of him was dying to know how the fans were reacting to his choices, the other was afraid that they would see right through him. 

“Man up Sonny,” he berated himself, finally clicking on the video and opening the live chatbox. 

“ _Best setlist ever!_ ” 

“ _That song in the middle, perfect_ ” 

“ _God, Sonny gave me feels! That middle song… damn_ ” 

The positivity flowing like a stream down the page floored him, not stopping until the entire setlist was done. And even then, the discussion among the fans kept on going, long after the music had stopped. 

Carisi was beyond chuffed at this point. 

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and his grin widened when he realised it was their group chat. 

“ _Well done Sonny_ ,” typed Amanda. 

“ _I knew yours would be popular, good choices Carisi_ ,” wrote Olivia. 

“ _Damn near made me cry bro_ ,” joked Mike. 

Carisi smiled as he scrolled through the positive messages and replied. According to Olivia, it had been the most popular night yet. 

It was almost, almost enough to distract him from the fact that one person was noticeably absent. But as the hours ticked by, Sonny found it harder to ignore the elephant in the room. 

“Really, not even a ‘ _good job_ ’ or ‘ _passable job_ ’ huh Barba?” Sonny muttered to his phone, before shoving it between the cushions. 

No, he didn’t expect Barba to understand his hidden message, but he was at least hoping that it could be a starting point for them. 

But even as he worked his emotions around the huge shard of disappointment lodged in his stomach, Sonny knew in his heart of hearts that he would have regretted it more if he had said nothing. 

Sonny had taken a big swing, taken it and missed. And now he would have to live with the consequences of his actions. 

But at the very least, he got to put out in the universe his own version of a thank you to Barba, for what he had done for him. 

***

**Five Weeks Previously**

It was a daily news report that finally got to him. 

When lockdown first started, Sonny told himself that he had this. His fridge was full, his Netflix was queued, and he had even set aside some time to compose and work out. 

But then the days started to merge together and stretch before him with no clear end in sight. Sonny found himself mixing up days, and getting irrationally angry with himself when he did. 

Until today, when he randomly turned on the TV and heard a news anchor say straight to cam that it was okay to not be okay. 

And the floodgates opened. 

Sonny collapsed in his armchair as sobs wracked his body, all his uncertainties, all his negative thoughts brought on by the isolation, turning into thin gold wires wrapping and choking his heart. 

As he tried to get his emotions under control he heard his phone ring, which he ignored. He was not in any state to talk to anyone. 

But the phone kept ringing and ringing, which allowed his irritation to push through the current wall of what he was feeling. 

“Yeah,” Carisi snapped, rubbing a sleeve over his tear-stained cheeks. 

“Carisi?” 

“Barba? What you doing calling me?” Carisi said sitting up, hoping his voice didn’t sound as raspy as it did in his head. 

“Well…” 

Sonny tried to keep drawing short breaths as Barba fell silent. Clearing the salt from his throat, he was about to ask the question again when Barba suddenly spoke. 

“You free to talk?” Barba said, and for some reason Carisi felt grateful that he sounded like his usual curt self. 

“Yeah sure,” Carisi said, reaching for a tissue.

“I think Mike sent me this song of yours by mistake. It sounds like a ballad but your guitar bridge is a bit too hard for this delicate a melody,” Barba said, and Carisi could almost picture him scrunching his nose. 

“A song?” 

“Yeah this song,” Barba said, humming a couple of bars. 

“Oh?” 

“ _Even if the sky is narrow by the time love is over, someday I will make it shine_.” 

Barba sang that part under his breath, in that rich tenor of his that had just the slightest bit of grit on the syllables. It never failed to give Sonny chills. 

“Nice lyrics though Carisi.” 

Carisi smiled as he straightened up, his early outburst pushed aside for the moment. 

“It’s on purpose Barba, that bridge,” he said almost proudly, even though he was still a little stuffed up. 

“On purpose? Are your ears not working?” 

For the next twenty minutes the two of them argued in earnest over the song. By the end Carisi felt satisfied that he had stood his ground, but had conceded on a few arrangement changes. 

“I will be curious to hear the demo Carisi.”

“Will send it over when it is done then Barba,” Carisi said, his face beaming with his first genuine smile in what seemed like ages. 

He should have hung up there and then, but for some reason he didn’t want to. Just like the night that they had slept together. 

But Carisi found comfort in just listening to him breathe, in having a living contact point with someone else. 

“I never told you why I chose your band, did I Carisi?” Barba said in an unexpected segue. 

“No Barba, you didn’t. Admit it, it was Mike’s tight pants wasn’t it?” Carisi laughed. It was a lame joke, but it made Sonny feel normal for the first time in weeks. 

Barba gave half a dry chuckle and half a derisive snort. 

“I thought you guys were rough and generic in places. Some of your music was contrived, but you had a charm all your own,” Barba said a little too arrogantly for Carisi’s liking. 

“So why did you choose us again Barba?” Carisi asked in mild exasperation, sinking deeper into his couch.

“Because my old manager hated you guys. She happened to catch you as an opening act and said you were nobodies that got further than you should have.” 

“She said that?” Carisi responded, his jaw tight. 

“But, she couldn’t differentiate talent from a hole in the ground,” Barba said, every word dripping with contempt. “And that was what made me take a second pass at you guys, and that is when I realised… you were special.”

“Or…” And Sonny swore he could practically hear Barba’s shrug at this point. “Or, could be one day.” 

“So you pushed yourself onto us out of the goodness of your heart huh?” Sonny said jokingly, but his voice was too warm for the insult to really dig in. 

“Whatever Carisi. Get back to me once you do those changes.” 

Carisi chuckled and was about to hang up when he heard the tinny sound of Barba calling his name. 

“Hey Sonny…” 

“Yeah?” 

Sonny’s heart skittered when he heard Barba’s breathing become clipped.

“It will be okay. We will be okay,” Barba said quietly, reassuringly, before disconnecting the call.

It was in that moment, standing in the middle of his apartment with sunlight streaming through the windows, that Carisi knew exactly what it was that he felt for the other man. 

He loved him, loved him beyond reason and rational thought. 

And he also knew that even if Barba never returned his feelings, Sonny was grateful to him for giving him certainty, in a world intent on spiralling out of control. 

***

It was that memory that Sonny found himself turning over in his head the next day when he sat down to listen to Barba’s setlist. 

He did at first entertain a petty thought about skipping it, only to feel a little ashamed at how selfishly he was acting. 

Plus, like their fans, Sonny was dead curious to know what Barba had picked. 

After adjusting his headphones, Sonny leaned into his palm and closed his eyes as the video started. 

Sonny was pleasantly surprised when the first song out the gate was his composition. It wasn’t a massive shock though, the song was one of their biggest hits, so it was a no-brainer to lead with it. 

But Sonny sat up with a jolt when midway through the song, it switched to a live version of the same song. There was no doubt of the change, the guitars were suddenly more front, and you could even hear the sound of the crowd beneath Mike’s vocals. 

“He stitched them together, that sonofabitch,” Sonny said, with more than little envy in his voice. 

By joining the two together, Barba had created a standalone hybrid of his song, which featured both the polish of the studio and its live, emotional bones. 

It was ballsy, it was unusual.

It was _genius_. 

Before Sonny could really wrap his head around it, the next song started up. 

And he immediately felt a pressure on his sternum. 

That next song was also his. One of his earliest compositions for Disciples, and the first that had received national airplay. 

“What the hell Barba?” Sonny said, running his hand through his hair in a nervy gesture. 

And then he heard it, the brand new song that he and Barba had worked on, sitting at the third slot. It was the demo and still rough, but nobody outside the two of them would have known that. 

The song that he now realised he wrote when the it dawned on him that he might be falling in love. 

Barba had deliberately chosen to put three of Sonny’s songs, the ones he was proudest of, at the very beginning of his setlist. 

If music was the mother tongue of composers, Barba had just told him in no uncertain terms " _I love you too_ ". 

The fact that he had chosen three songs was probably equivalent to Barba adding the word “ _numbnuts_ ” to the end of that sentence, an exclamation mark on his feelings. 

Because Sonny was clearly oblivious and slow. 

“Barba!” Sonny said, his voice pitching up when the other man picked up the phone after the first ring. 

After a stunned silence, he heard Barba give a small laugh. 

“Shouldn’t it be Rafael by now Sonny?” Barba said drily.

“Barba… I mean Rafael. Those songs you chose. I don’t want to assume they mean anything. But I mean they do, but I am not sure…” 

“Sonny, Sonny breathe,” Barba interjected, thankfully putting a stop to Sonny’s verbal flailing. “If you are asking me whether what I did means what you think it means, you are right.” 

Pressing his hand to his head, Sonny bit on his tongue stud as relief and confusion ran riot in his thoughts. 

“Then, why didn’t you say anything, after we slept together? Why did you act like it was nothing Rafael?” Sonny asked, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice. 

“Because… because…” 

Rafael, at a loss of words and a little distressed, was definitely something new. 

“I left my old career because I wouldn’t sleep with someone. Don’t you think it seems hypocritical that I would jeopardise my new career because I actually wanted to sleep with someone?” 

Sonny closed his eyes at Rafael’s flawed logic. 

“You know it’s not the same,” he said softly. 

“I know. But, I have to give it to you Sonny, you are a persistent one,” Rafael replied, his voice equally as gentle, even with the sarcasm. 

“You mean, you haven’t been in love with me all this time?” Sonny said with a dimpled grin. 

“No, of course not,” Barba said huffily. “Well, maybe since you clumsily broke my guitar string.” 

Sonny threw his head back in a laugh. 

“If it wasn’t for lockdown, I would be over there in a heartbeat Rafael. I want to take you out on a proper date,” Sonny said, his voice heavy with regret. 

“Well, we maybe can try to work something out, get through this together? I mean, I haven’t been out of my apartment in weeks. I would certainly welcome the company,” Barba said lightly. 

Sonny’s heart softened when he realised that Rafael was offering him. 

“That may not be a bad idea. But it will take me a bit to get stuff sorted. In the meantime, you wanna Zoom date? We could hold hands through the screen?” 

Sonny chortled when he heard Barba give a pained sigh that was undoubtedly accompanied by an eye-roll. 

“Goodbye Sonny,” Barba said, before curtly hanging up. 

Sonny’s laugh lengthened as he put his phone down, to the point where it filled his apartment. He was sure he would be able to get Rafael to eventually agree to one virtual date. 

In the meantime, Sonny grabbed his guitar and a pad and pen. The melody he had been chasing the week before suddenly filling his head.

He was feeling inspired. 

***

**The End**

***

**Author's Note:**

> Songs used in this fic: 
> 
> i. **懐春** ~ **DIR EN GREY** (from the album **Arche** )  
> ii. **空谷の跫音** ~ **DIR EN GREY** (from the album **Arche** )


End file.
